


Grave Perspective

by Rabid_X



Series: 12 Gays of Christmas [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Emotional Constipation, First Kiss, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabid_X/pseuds/Rabid_X
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part five of 12 Gays of Christmas: Christmas Carol Edition. John is woken by violin music and houseguests on Christmas Day. Lestrade promises to sing.<br/>This is one pair of a multiple fandom work. The stories are not connected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grave Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> My writing partner, PrometheusHarpe, and I started doing this many Christmases ago.  
> The premise is six lovely gay couples at the Christmas season.This year I write them for her. This is un-beta'd so let me know the mistakes and my first Sherlock fic posted here. Enjoy!  
> (eventually to be cross-posted on Live Journal)

The strains of a violin woke John and he looked at him clock with a soft groan. Six a.m., Christmas Day. Sherlock was up early if he even went to sleep. Still, it was Christmas and John was no stranger to the giddy feeling of an early morning on this day. He rolled out of bed and pulled his robe on, tying it tight around the middle and wandered to the bathroom.

After a quick piss, wash up and brush of his teeth, he made his way to the living room and stopped dead. Mrs. Hudson, Inspector Lestrade and Molly for god’s sake, were all there, gathered by the fire while Sherlock played for them. 

“Did anyone sleep or did everyone stay up waiting for Father Christmas?” 

Mrs. Hudson laughed and got up, hands stretched out to take John’s. “Oh don’t be a grumpus on Christmas, John. Come join us. The Inspector has promised us that he’ll accompany Sherlock on some carols.”

“Greg, please,” Lestrade said. “Morning, Watson.”

“Lestrade," John nodded and let Mrs. Hudson lead him to his chair. Molly waved and blushed a bit – par of the course – and Sherlock just looked at him, his sea glass eyes unfathomable. “I must be going mad, or they are,” John mumbled.

“Now, John, don’t be rude to our guests,” Sherlock set the violin down and moved to pour John some tea. “Lestrade and Molly were just dropping off presents and Mrs. Hudson and I happened to be awake. I know how much you wanted a family holiday.”

John accepted the cup from Sherlock and stared at him. The man must be joking. He’d mentioned once, _once_ that he’d missed the way his family would gather while his grandparents were alive. It must’ve been two weeks or more since that semi-drunken, melancholy confession passed his lips. 

Sherlock gave him a wink and turned back to Molly. “Is it time to toast up the seed cake?”

“Oh God yes, I’ll get right on that!” Molly got up and picked up one of her alarmingly large and violently festive bags. “I’ll pop it in the oven and it will be ready in a jiff.”

“Oh, you’d better do that downstairs, dear,” Mrs. Hudson beckoned her. “I wouldn’t trust what he’s gotten up to in his oven. Might be a leg or stomach in there. Come with me.”

After the women went downstairs, Sherlock turned to Lestrade. “Divorce papers at the solicitor’s?”

Lestrade grinned. “You didn’t know?”

Sherlock smirked. “Of course I knew, I’m just trying my hand at polite. Like I know you weren’t working late either but,” Sherlock held up his hands to forestall Lestrade’s comment. “I am glad for the both of you.”

“Thanks,” Lestrade said. “Wasn’t sure she’d even notice me what with you.”

“Death does wonders for perspective,” Sherlock replied back. 

“Okay,” John said, getting up. “That’s enough disturbing romantic revelations for me. I’m off to get dressed.”

Sherlock watched John retreat upstairs, a line between his brows and a frown on his face. Lestrade tsked and said his name in admonition and Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I did mess that up, didn’t I?”

“Well go after him, you twit,” Lestrade said with a roll of his eyes.

“What?” Sherlock looked over confused. Lestrade jerked his head towards that stairs. “Ah, yes, of course.”

*****

“Sodding jackass,” John grumbled and he jerked his jeans on. 

It hurt like hell to watch Sherlock die. Allegedly die. John hadn’t been sure he would ever recover. It felt like some vital part of him had gone missing. Every day had been a struggle to get out of bed, to leave his gun in the desk drawer, to _breathe_. And then Sherlock waltzed back in, pretty as you please. Yes his explanations and reasons were sound but it was a cold water shock to see him standing on the doorstep, lips twisted in a nervous smile.

And now Molly, steadfast and reliable Molly (and hadn’t that been a tiny bit of betrayal that John was just getting over) had gained perspective. Figured out the great Sherlock Holmes would never love her and Greg Lestrade was just waiting in the wings…

“What about my fucking perspective?” John growled and yanked a jumper over his head.

“Yes, what about your perspective? What did my death show you, John?”

John wheeled, face red and fists clenched at his sides. “It showed me that you are an ass who – who wouldn’t just trust me! I damn near didn’t make it, Sherlock! I, fuck. I just… What perspective did you gain from your death, Sherlock?”

Sherlock crossed the floor in three strides of his long legs and took John by the arms. “I realized I missed you. That I hated life without you in it, making your snide comments and nearly loosing your temper with me daily. That I would do anything to keep you safe even if it tore the heart out of me. He did it, John. He tore the heart out of me and I almost let him keep it.”

John stared up, mouth open in shock. This was the most emotional he’d ever seen Sherlock and he couldn’t stop himself from crashing their lips together. He almost pulled away as quickly but Sherlock tightened his grip and lapped his way past John’s lips.

The kiss was filthy, dirty and dark but Sherlock’s eyes – damn him for not closing them, how did he expect John to? – were full of hope. When they broke away for air, John laughed and pressed his face to Sherlock’s chest. 

“Should’ve opened with that when you came home.”

Sherlock carded fingers through John’s hair. “So should’ve you.”

John laughed again and breathed in Sherlock. “God, we are a pair of idiots.”

“Well,” Sherlock shrugged. “Perhaps we’ve acted like idiots but I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re both idiots.”

“So just you then?”

Sherlock laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of John’s head. “I may be rubbish at this you know.”

John looked up. “Who isn’t?”

“Fair point.”

They stood there for moments longer, neither one willing to move. Noises of inquiry came from downstairs after a moment and John could hear Lestrade rumbling a reply. “Can he really sing?”

“It is my understanding he has a very pleasant baritone,” Sherlock drolled.

“Well then” John stepped back and grinned. “Let’s go find out.”


End file.
